


make his home my home

by chocobos



Series: stay close to me [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Obliviousness, Willful Miscommunication, World of Ruin, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 19:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17514674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocobos/pseuds/chocobos
Summary: The hunt wassupposedto be simple. But, really, Prompto’s found supposed-to-bes truly do mean jack shit when you’ve been stuck in a lightless, soul-sucking nightmare for the last four years.





	make his home my home

**Author's Note:**

> hullo... this is like 4 days late, but oh well. i'm finishing promnis week even if it takes me all year to do it!!! 
> 
> anyway, this was written for 'hurt/comfort' for day... 6? of promnis week. idek who i am anymore what is time fjosidgh 
> 
> this is pretty angsty compared to what i usually write but i hope u guys enjoy it anyway! don't worry there's plenty of fluff too! 
> 
> AS ALWAYS this was beta'd by my beautiful boyfriend!! tysm for listening to me whine and complain about this for three days... he really is the real mvp <3

  
  


 

 

\-----

  
  


 

 

Prompto genuinely believed it wasn’t that bad, this time.    
  
For the first time in a few months, Ignis and Prompto are on a hunt together. Not for the lack of trying or not wanting to. Prompto can think of little else he’d rather do than spend time with Ignis, no matter what they may be doing. Usually. He’ll admit this is a little less than ideal. 

The hunt was supposed to be simple. But, really, Prompto’s found supposed-to-bes truly do mean jack shit when you’ve been stuck in a lightless, soul-sucking nightmare for the last four years. Daemons are everywhere now, they’ve swallowed up the entirety of the planet as far as they can tell and the only reason they manage to keep them out of the outposts and bigger cities is by frivolous guarding with a healthy dose of sheer, stubborn willpower. 

Prompto sighs. 

They’re in a bit of a pickle right now. Their simple hunt of hacking their way through Vesperpool’s drowned forests as an attempt to hunt enough fish to last them through the winter quickly turned into pretty much the worst hunt Prompto’s ever had. 

All within a few minutes too. 

  
  
  


 

———

  
  
  


 

Everything goes perfectly for the first few hours. Prompto’s checking the nets two members of the Glaive put out the night before. He hopes to have at least a few dozen fish, since unlike his best friend he doesn’t actually have the patience for the reel and line stuff. 

Prompto bites back a sigh. His mind has been wandering a lot these days. Prompto won’t admit it to anyone, especially not Ignis. Ignis doesn’t deserve the burden of Prompto’s cowardice. But if he’s being honest there are moments where Prompto can’t find it in himself to believe that Noctis is really coming back. 

“Coeurl got your tongue?” Ignis asks, voice warm, not an ounce of boredom that’s running through Prompto’s own body present in his tone. 

Prompto turns towards Ignis. The man is cleaning his daggers with a thin, worn washcloth. Ignis is leaning forward on his knees, resting his weight on his elbows. He’s wearing his glasses today, and Prompto finds he misses being able to see Ignis’ eyes. He knows plenty of people turn away from them, that Ignis himself struggles with how deeply they dig into his face -- what they represent.    
  
Ignis won’t talk about it, least of all to Prompto, but they’ve all had their fair share of waking up from Ignis screaming in middle of a nightmare. Prompto doesn’t know much, just that Ardyn was probably involved. He doesn’t have to make any jumps to guess whatever it was that Ignis went through will be stored under lock and key.    
  
“I’m so  _ bored _ ,” Prompto whines. “How does anyone find fishing entertaining at all? It’s even worse without the nets.” 

Ignis’ lips quirk at the edges. Prompto can’t help but glance at his friend’s face once more. Ignis’ smiles are few and far between, especially these days, which means Prompto takes every opportunity he can to savor them. There isn’t much to smile about these days, but Prompto’s glad Ignis finds reasons to with him.    
  
“Some people find it rather relaxing.”    
  
Prompto rolls his eyes. “Well, I’m definitely not one of them. I just hope there’s enough fish here. I know Takka was disappointed by what we managed to bring back last time,” Prompto says. 

Ignis hums. “It’s nothing to worry about now, Prompto. If that happens to be the issue, then we’ll work around it. We always do,” Ignis’ voice has the kind of hushed confidence to it that Prompto’s always found unbearably attractive. 

“I know,” Prompto says, and he can’t help but laugh a little at himself. “I just worry, you know? Some days it feels like we’re only just managing to make it.”    
  
“I understand. It’s important to remember that we could be plenty worse off as well.” 

Prompto takes a deep breath, blows it out, and nods. Ignis is right. There are plenty of ways things could be worse. At least they’re not almost dying, they’re relatively safe and they should be back home in Lestallum by tonight. They have a roof, electricity, and are behind sturdy walls. Prompto supposes they could be a lot worse off, indeed.    
  
At least they aren’t dead.    
  
“How do you always know just what to say to make me feel better?” Prompto asks. Honestly the question might even be a little genuine. 

“Oh hush, now.” 

“I’m serious, Iggy,” Prompto tells him, and he’s sure to use his This-Is-Important voice so Ignis knows that what he’s about to say is life changing. He knows Ignis has trouble, sometimes, with accepting praise or thanks, and Prompto -- well. Prompto wants him to know just how lovely he thinks he is.    
  
Without ever actually telling him that.    
  
“You don’t tell me what I want to hear, man. You tell me what I  _ need _ to hear. I’ve always appreciated that about you.”    
  
Ignis makes a hushed noise, like he’s shocked from how earnest Prompto’s being -- he should definitely dial it back, probably. The absolute worst time for one of your best friends to find out you’re in love with him is on a hunting trip neither of them are safe enough to escape from alone. 

“Thank you, Prompto. I can only endeavor to express how much your kind words mean to me,” Ignis says. 

Prompto feels a blush sprout to his cheeks. Prompto doesn’t know how the man manages to sound like he’s straight from one of Gladio’s cheesy romance novels -- but also kind of good? Prompto may have caved a few years ago out of sheer boredom and read a few of them. He doesn’t know how Ignis seemingly has an endless supply of charm but, well, it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy it. 

Somehow, Ignis still knows when he’s blushing, too, which does stupid things to his pitiful heart that he honestly tries not to think about it very much.    
  
“Dude,” Prompto says. “It is so not fair how smooth you are all the time. Especially when you won’t give me any tips.”    
  
He thinks any man would be knocked breathless by the force of the smile that comes out to place on Ignis’ lips.    
  
“Ah, that’s because like I keep telling you, you don’t need a bit of help on that front.”    
  
Alright. Maybe fishing isn’t that bad.    
  
  
  
  


 

\-----

 

  
  
  


  
So, as tedious and life-sucking as fishing is, it goes okay. The fishing isn’t so bad, in retrospect. He doubts he’ll be complaining about the monotony of fishing again anytime soon.

They're packing up the last of the fish they caught in the back of the van Takka lets them borrow. They use it to shuttle supplies between all the outposts, and it all feels like something they've done hundreds of times before -- Prompto's lost count of the amount of times they've done this. Prompto's sliding the last box into place when the opening notes of rotten eggs and dark magic corrupting his sense.

“Shit, Iggy,” Prompto whispers. “They’re coming.”    
  
“I hear them,” Ignis confirms. They shut the of back of the van, securing the supplies, and Ignis nods at him. “Can you see them yet?” 

Like Ignis’ words summon them, three Psychomancers creep through the shrubbery and into view, and Prompto curses even louder this time. Most daemons are ugly, rough, and an absolute terror to deal with, but Prompto holds a very special place in his blackened heart for the douche bags in front of him. He’s also faced them enough to know that they’re completely outmatched here. 

They don’t have enough people for three of them -- fighting them back in Steyliff had been awful enough; back then there were  _ four _ of them.  

Fuck. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Prompto whispers. “Iggy, there's three. I don’t know if we can take them.” 

Prompto doesn’t know if they have enough time to get safely in the van before they surround him. The only thing Prompto can think about is that he has to keep Ignis safe, not because Prompto doesn’t think him capable of defending himself, but because he’s the one who has to survive this. 

Ignis is the one who needs to be around for the rebuild. 

“Iggy,” Prompto hisses. “Stay behind me. They’re coming.” 

The Psychomancers are roughly twenty yards in front of them. Prompto unholsters his gun, spinning them around his fingers for a bit, letting them fall naturally in the palm of his hands. Prompto knows what he really needs to watch out for are the triangular beams. Those are what he certainly needs to keep away from Ignis. 

Prompto knows Ignis is saying something to him, but everything else around him disappears except for the solid warmth of Ignis at his back, the ever-escalating rhythm of his own heart, tripping frantically behind his rib-cage. It’s easy as breathing for Prompto to raise his guns to the two closest to them. They seem to be trying to flank them on either side, but Prompto’s quicker than any of them can account for. He fires his guns simultaneously, hitting perfect headshots even though it doesn’t seem to do much. 

Whatever. Anything to keep them distracted. He doesn’t know if they’ve noticed Ignis behind him, or maybe they’re just not interested in him. Prompto glances behind at Ignis quickly, finding the man in a crouched position, daggers at the ready. Ignis told him once that while he couldn’t see, he trained himself to respond to the way their energy lingers in the air. 

It gives Prompto an idea. 

“Hey, Iggy. You know that move you used to do, uh, with Noct? What’d you call it, mark?” 

“Oh, yes. That could work. Swift thinking, Prompto,” Ignis says. 

“The force from both the knife and the gunshot should end up maximizing our damage… hopefully.” 

Ignis steps out from behind him, somehow feeling the strength of Prompto’s glare on the side of his face as he tilts his head towards Prompto. He swears the man’s mouth almost looks mischievous. It does silly things to Prompto’s insides, mainly twist them around at just how pretty the man is. 

“Let us see if that’s correct, shall we?” Ignis says. “On my mark.” 

The next few minutes are blur of knives. He knows Ignis studied for years all about the weak points on a person’s body, how best to incapacitate them by causing both the most and least amount of harm, and that fact is easily the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Especially when they’re in battle like they are now and he watches one of the Psychomancers collapse to the ground. 

It doesn’t get back up. 

Prompto cheers, albeit much more quietly than he normally would. The last thing they need is for this place to be crawling with daemons. 

“Nice! One down, two to go. If we do this nice and slow, we may just be able to get home in one piece tonight.”

Ignis hmms. “I think you may be right, Prompto. Allow me to follow your lead.” 

Prompto can feel the blush crawl over his ears, bleeding down onto the already overheated skin of his neck. 

“Ah, right!” Focus, Argentum. You can moon over Ignis later once you’re behind walls again. “You didn’t happen to bring along any of your spells, did you?” 

Ignis’ expression turns merciless. “As it happens, I did.” 

Prompto knows, he  _ knows;  _ they can do this. 

They can. 

  
  
  
  


 

———

  
  
  
  


 

It, like it always does, comes down to the last one. 

Both Prompto and Ignis are exhausted. This was supposed to be a simple extraction hunt, and while they certainly brought enough to protect themselves, they’re still not exactly prepared. He can tell Ignis is starting to feel the fatigue, as flexible and mobile as Ignis is in the field, they’re both running on no sleep. 

Prompto doesn’t know how long either of them can hold out any longer, but he refuses to give up. 

Not now. Not when they’re so close. 

He steps in front of Ignis again, gently pushing the man back until he’s leaning against the hood of the van. “Keep your daggers ready. You think you got one more fancy move left in you, Igster?” Prompto teases. 

When the man laughs, it’s breathless. “Whatever you need, simply say the word.” 

 

 

 

\-----

 

  
  
  


Everything goes to shit about five minutes after that.    
  
Prompto and Ignis have been doing a pretty good job so far dodging the the Psychomancer’s triangular beams, but one cuts a little too close to Ignis for Prompto’s comfort, and he doesn’t even think before he’s stepping in the opposite direction from his friend. Prompto doesn’t know how much ammo he has left, but he has to be running low, at the very least. They need to wrap this up before he really does run out of ammo.    
  
Prompto glances at Ignis, to make sure he’s safe. Ignis is still grasping his daggers, realization dawning over his face when he hears Prompto’s retreating steps. 

The great thing about using ranged weapons -- or, melee weapons as ranged weapons, in Ignis’ case -- is that you don’t necessarily have to be by what you’re attacking to do damage. Prompto takes a deep breath, and then hollers, 

“ _ Now, Iggy! _ ” 

Prompto watches as Ignis hurls his daggers directly towards the daemon, watching in awe as Ignis somehow still manages to hit the most tender places. Prompto brings his gun up, swiftly a shooting at Ignis’ targets, guns a blur of blazing fire and billowy smoke. 

Or at least that is what he intends to do. 

He never quite gets there, as his gun decides to jam as he’s lining up his final shot. Regardless of how stupid daemons really are -- Prompto’s heard the debate go around enough that he’s a little insulted at his own brain for making him revisit it  _ now _ \-- this one wastes no opportunity to use Prompto’s moment of vulnerability to its advantage. 

The last thing he registers is a blinding, searing blue. 

  
  
  
  


 

\-----

  
  
  
  


 

Prompto floats, for a while. 

There’s nothing concrete here. Nothing about him, the endless white void he’s in, or the thoughts rattling around in his head. He doesn’t know where he is, why he’s here — nothing. Prompto can’t remember anything other than his own name.

In fact, it’s the only thing he hears, too. A desperate, echoing plead that settles uncomfortably around him. 

Prompto. 

_ Prompto.  _

Prompto! 

The urgency never dies like Prompto expects it to, only builds. The more it builds the more Prompto feels like his chest is being cracked open, an aching, bursting pressure so severe Prompto can’t stop the noise that tears through his throat. 

 

The voice stops, evaporates into nothingness like it was never really there, taking the stark whiteness and unbearable pressure on his chest with it. Everything is gone as fast as it had appeared; the next few moments are terrifying, hanging out in a inky black abyss. 

Prompto is thrust into awareness before another thought can form. 

  
  
  


 

\-----   
  
  
  
  
  


 

“ _ Prompto _ !” The voice sounds eerily familiar, that’s all Prompto can place about it right now. There’s a bundle of warmth in the middle of his chest, and Prompto tries to grasp at it. There’s a faint tut-tut noise, and the warmth moves to run down his arms and across his shoulders. Prompto still doesn’t know why. 

Awareness comes to him much slower this time. His eyes fight him when he tries to open them. Prompto stubbornly refuses to let it go, and when they finally snap open, everything else falls down around him, and he suffocates. The inexplicable and sudden potency of the pain that swallows him entirely is all at once overwhelming. Prompto slams his eyes shut once more against it, a whimper falling out of his mouth that he doesn’t register until the somehow comfortable pressure on his body stutters.

“Prompto,” the voice says again, their voice cracking with emotion. “Can you hear me? Please, darling -- I need to know how bad it is. If you can hear me, give me a sign.  _ Please _ .” 

Prompto cracks an eye open. The person in front of him is blurry, but Prompto would recognize those ridiculous spikes of perfectly styled hair anywhere. 

“I -- Iggy,” Prompto manages to croak out after a few minutes. “ _ Hurts _ .” 

Ignis’ expression falls even further, that damn crease appears between his eyebrows. Prompto hates that he’s the cause of it, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t prefer this to the alternative. Prompto is expendable, has always been expendable. Ignis is the smartest man he knows; he’s vital to repairing whatever is left after. 

The hands -- they’re  _ hands _ , he knows that now, and the burning pressure roaming over his body, checking the extent of his injuries to the best of their ability -- move up to grasp at Prompto’s face. He’s not sure if the shiver is entirely Ignis’ doing, not this time, but it’s a welcome distraction from the pain etched into every crevice of Ignis’ face. 

“S’not that bad,” Prompto tells him. “We -- we gotta get outta here, Igs.” 

Ignis takes a shuddering breath. “I’m not certain I can move you,” Ignis admits. 

Prompto pushes himself onto his elbows, groaning at the aches that build in his elbows, but otherwise they seem to be able to hold him up with (minimal) effort. He rests there for a moment, breathing deeply as he tries to get his thoughts in some semblance of order. Everything in his head is jumbled, the entirety of his existence bleeds together in a way that Prompto would be deeply worried about in anyone else. 

“I can make it. We — we can’t stay here much longer, Iggy. It won’t be long before others start to come looking.”

Ignis knows he’s right, and the grimace on his face says it all. “You’re certain you can make it to the van? The daemon knocked you back quite a bit. I couldn’t move you.” 

Prompto hopes he’s imagining the guilt that creeps into Ignis’ tone; he so does not have the willpower to give the man the lecture he deserves for it. 

“I can do it, Ignis,” Prompto tells him, though he really, really isn’t sure he can. “I already feel better.” 

Another lie, but Prompto will do anything to get them on their way back home. He hopes Ignis will forgive him. He hopes he’ll be around for Ignis  _ to  _ forgive him. 

“Alright,” Ignis says. He does not look happy about the proceedings. This time Prompto can’t blame him. “You will take breaks, if you need to, Prompto.” 

His tone brokers no argument. 

“Of course,” He says, sagely.

Prompto does not plan on taking any breaks, though he’s sure Ignis will bully him into a couple of them if he hears so much as a whimper from him. 

Ignis’ fists clench, and pushes himself to his feet. Prompto watches as he stands, vision starting to go fuzzy at the edges again. A single gloved hand appears in his line of sight. Prompto reaches for it with one of his own, and lets the man pull him to his feet. 

Prompto is incredibly proud of himself that he manages not to whimper when he’s on both feet.    
  
_ “Oh, gods _ ,” Prompto says, and immediately takes his weight off of his left knee. “I -- I think that my knee is broken.” 

Ignis, when Prompto glances over at him, looks decidedly calm; they’re standing close, but not close enough that Prompto can wrap his arm around his neck for support. Prompto can see the storm brewing beneath the surface. He wonders how long Ignis will last before giving him a lecture. Probably as soon as they get somewhere safe. 

“Are you certain?” 

Prompto nods. “Yeah, I see blood.” 

And maybe some bone. Prompto’s not so sure about that one. He keeps his mouth closed on that one, and takes a steadying breath through his nose. The first tendrils of panic are wrapping around his throat. Prompto’s barely standing; if they make it to the van he’s not sure how they’re going to get home with his knee busted. 

“Drat. Let us worry first about getting to the van. One problem at a time. Can you be my eyes, Prompto?” asks Ignis, stepping closer to him so Prompto can loop an arm around his neck. 

The relief is immediate, as is the arm that wraps around his waist to hold him close. He gratefully leans into him, refusing to feel embarrassed about this. If Ignis didn’t want him close, then they wouldn’t be out on a hunt together to begin with. 

“I’m sorry,” Prompto whispers. They’re over halfway there, the soft groans and grunts they make as they take measured steps forward the only noise between them for a long time. 

Ignis tenses so minutely that Prompto’s not entirely sure he’s imagining it.

“We’ll talk about that later,” Ignis says, and his voice has the heat of promise that makes Prompto’s hands sweat. “We  _ will _ be speaking about this later.” 

Ignis’ head turns towards him, and though Prompto still can’t quite read his face, the way his gaze hovers over Prompto’s face would make him think the man was staring at him. 

Maybe once upon a time he would’ve been. 

Prompto nods. Their shoulders are pressed together, Ignis carrying most of Prompto’s weight. He knows Ignis feels it. 

“I — I won’t be going anywhere,” Prompto tells him. 

Ignis sighs. “Good. Now, please, Prompto. Conserve your strength.” 

So Prompto does. 

  
  
  
  


 

———

  
  
  


 

They eventually make it to the van. 

Ignis helps Prompto hobble over to the driver’s seat, staying by his side until he hears the driver’s door open. For a moment, Prompto thinks his friend is going to insist on helping him into the seat, but Ignis never does. 

Nor does he move away. Prompto can’t hold back the mortifying soft cries and whimpers that escape as he tries to bed his leg into an acceptable position for driving that doesn’t make his knee feel like it’s being burst open all over again. 

Ignis’ fists still hang by his sides, knuckles white and pulled taut. Prompto swallows when he sees it. 

“I’m here,” whispers Prompto. 

Ignis purses his lips, and doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he feels his way around to the passenger side of the door. Moments later it’s opening and Prompto watches as the man slides into the seat next to his. The lines of Ignis’ shoulders are tense as he pulls on his seatbelt, the loud finality of it clicking into place surges Prompto into action. 

He starts the engine. 

The adrenaline from before is fading back to the far reaches of his subconscious. The pain, this time, slowly blossoms like a blooming flower, until the petals engulf Prompto’s body in a searing pain. Shit. He may be worse off than he thought.    
  
As if a shattered knee wasn’t enough.    
  
Prompto tries not to make any sudden movements.    
  
“Prompto,” Ignis whispers. His voice sounds like shards of glass; fractured. Drained. Prompto hasn’t heard Ignis sound this tired since the week following Noctis’ disappearance. It makes Prompto’s heartache. He doesn’t know what to do with that, what it means. He knows what he wants it to mean, but he’s not foolish enough to believe that’d ever become a reality. Especially not right now. “I would like it if you were honest with me. I know you are dismissing the severity of your injuries.” 

Prompto winces. He most definitely is doing that and he was really banking on Ignis being too fatigued to notice. He knows he can’t lie to Ignis any longer -- not that he’s very good at it in the first place, since the man always somehow knows whenever he’s doing it -- about this, now that he’s confronting him. 

“Iggy…”

“Please, Prompto. Do -- I cannot bear it if you lie to me again.” 

Prompto crumbles, of course he crumbles. 

“I -- Everything hurts,” Prompto admits, voice above a whisper this time. The pain creeps into his voice, then, not so easy to hide. “Being with you, helps. It’s the only good thing right now. I didn’t -- I didn’t want you to worry, y’know? You always worry. I -- I knew you wouldn’t leave if you knew how bad it was.” 

Ignis’s lips thin, and the man obviously needs to take a few more breaths to gain control over his voice. Prompto can’t tear his eyes away from the man in the seat next to him. The only light in the front of the van is from the dashboard; the light plays off of Ignis’ face in a way that has Prompto’s chest aching for a new reason this time. 

“I don’t appreciate you lying to me,” Ignis admits, and underneath the anger, and the annoyance, there’s hurt lying there. Prompto hates himself more than a little for being cause of it. "You promised." 

Prompto knows that he's the world's worst kind of asshole, and he can see now that he probably hadn't made the best decision when he chose to hide the extent of his injuries from Ignis. Prompto doesn't enjoy making an ass out of himself; certainly not when Ignis is the one he's making himself a fool in front of. 

"I'm sorry," Prompto says. That feels like the only thing he can really say right now. 

Ignis doesn't say anything, doesn't make a single noise or one of those stupid little hums Prompto's so fond of, and it's then that he realizes just how much he's screwed things up here. Ignis is really, truly hurt by this. They've gotten closer over the last few years but there are still the whispers of doubt that tell Prompto the other man doesn't enjoy his company as much as one would think. Prompto figured it'd be okay if Prompto wasn't suddenly around anymore. Ignis was most important. Ignis would be there for Noct, as always. Noct needed that, more than anything Prompto could ever give him. 

It's quiet for several moments, and Prompto on the edge of his seat. They're still vulnerably sitting in a van, one Prompto isn't sure he can even drive, and wherever the place is to have this conversation, it isn't here. They may be safe for now, but they both know how quickly things can spiral out here, how easy it is to be surrounded if you let your guard drop. 

Prompto really doesn't want to stick around long enough to find out what shows up this time. 

"We will talk about this later," Ignis promises. "For now, we need to get out of here. We're pushing our luck rather boldly." 

There's no way Prompto's getting out of that conversation later; he knows his friend well enough to know that Ignis will camp outside of Prompto's room in the infirmary if that's what it takes. 

"It might be kinda slow," Prompto replies. He thinks he can manage to get them home sometime if he drives really, really slowly and is very careful not to knock is injured leg. It'll take twice as long to get home, but it's the only way he knows he can get them home in one piece. "My leg is kind of done for, I think." 

Ignis takes a steadying breath. "I suppose you were lying about that one as well." 

Prompto doesn't bother confirming it, it's obvious Ignis already knows the answer. 

  
  
  


 

\-----

  
  
  
  


 

It takes them four hours to get back to Lestallum. 

It is, without a doubt, some of the most excruciating four hours of his life. Not only is the air between the two of them awkward and uncomfortable, which is bad enough by itself, Prompto's plan of only using a single foot turns out to be way more tiring than he thought. He loses count of the amount of times he has to keep himself from falling asleep at the wheel. Ignis is the only reason he doesn't end up doing that; he catches on when they're about halfway there that Prompto's falling asleep at the wheel.

Ignis keeps him talking, keeps him present. Prompto wants to appreciate it, and he sure some day he probably will. 

But, he's so tired. 

Prompto doesn't think he's ever been so tired. The pain from earlier has melted away into pleasant numbness. He thinks, if he really wanted to, that he could probably use his injured leg. He should be concerned about this. Prompto should be concerned about a lot of things right now, but he finds it so, so hard to care. And honestly? It feels kind of nice. Prompto spends so much time caring. He's never wanted to stop caring before, but now that he has -- well, he can see the appeal. The pleasant nothingness he's been floating in for the last twenty minutes is practically an Astral's blessing after the day they've had. 

"Talk to me, Prompto," Ignis says. It's been a while since either have them have talked. He sees the light from Lestallum already. They're only a few minutes out, and then Prompto can grab sweet unconsciousness at long last. "How are you feeling?" 

"Great," he breathes, and it -- it isn't really a lie. He feels awesome right now. 

Prompto can practically feel Ignis' worry without even looking at him. 

"Pardon?" 

"I don't feel anything," Prompto says, and for the first time in several hours, it actually sounds like his own. 

Ignis' worry increases to the point that he's reaching over, feeling for Prompto's face. Prompto thinks he lands somewhere around a cheek, and the hand quickly slides up to press a back of a palm to his forehead. The older man curses. 

"How far are we?" 

"'Ouple minutes, I think." 

Ignis nods. "Good. Stay with me, Prompto." 

Prompto can't find it in him to look over at Ignis but he's nodding. "I'm not going anywhere, Iggy. I pr --" 

"Don't. Please, don't." 

So Prompto doesn't. 

  
  
  


 

————

  
  
  
  


 

Prompto wakes up. 

This time, though, he’s not in middle of the Vesperpool lying helpless and broken. He’s laying on a bed — a pretty uncomfortable bed, but that doesn’t matter anymore, not really — from what seems to be Lestallum’s makeshift infirmary, judging by the wallpaper. Prompto doesn’t know how long he’s been out, but there’s a small pile of gifts piled on the nightstand next to his cot. 

Little odds and ends the townspeople and refugees knew he liked. Prompto doesn’t know what to do with all the guilt that piles on top of the presents people have left. He doesn’t know how to let them know he doesn’t deserve them. 

Not a single one. 

Prompto finally manages to tear his eyes away, though he can admit he definitely regrets it when his eyes land on Ignis. The man is curled in the corner, sank low into a chair that somehow looks both comfortable and awful at the same time. He can tell Ignis is asleep by how deep and evenly his breathing is, and he takes the bone the universe is throwing at him. 

Ignis looks  _ awful.  _ Prompto thinks he looks a lot like he did after the others rescued him from the keep in Gralea. That must be a coincidence. Prompto knows Ignis cares deeply as his friends. He guesses he just can’t help but be surprised he’s included in Ignis’ circle of friends. 

Well. He might not be anymore. 

Prompto’s throat closes up thinking about it. The worst part of it all is that she wouldn’t blame Ignis if that were the case. 

“You’re awake.” 

Prompto jerks, hissing when his body screams at him in protest. He had almost forgotten, for a moment, what the pain from before had felt like. It’s certainly gotten easier to handle, but it’s nowhere near enjoyable. He quickly settles back into bed. 

“Ignis,” Prompto breathes. His voice cracks from disuse and now that it’s brought to his attention his throat aches something awful. “You should get more sleep, dude. You look wrecked.” 

_ Of course he looks wrecked, you idiot, _ Prompto thinks. 

“I’m quite alright,” Ignis insists. His voice has lost the heat it had before Prompto passed out, but he knows Ignis isn’t going to let go of it that easily. “How are you feeling, Prompto?” 

Prompto sighs. “A lot better, actually. How long as I out for?” 

There’s a beat of silence. It stretches on just a little too much. 

Prompto’s eyes are still on Ignis, so he watches as all the tightness melts out of him. 

“One week,” says Ignis. Prompto can’t quite place the tone of his voice. “You were asleep for one week.” 

That’s way longer than he thought. 

“Shit,” Prompto hisses. “Have you been here the whole time?” 

Ignis definitely looks a little sheepish now. 

“As much as I could, yes.” 

Prompto nods. That makes sense. He knows he’d do the same for Noctis or Gladio, and Prompto feels his ribcage constrict around the thundering staccato of Prompto’s heart. 

“Iggy,” Prompto whispers. 

“If you are about to apologize again, Prompto, then I won’t hear it.” 

Ah, so he’s still very pissed off, then. 

“Uh, I was actually going to ask if I could have some water,” he admits. 

Ignis walks over to a table in the far corner of the room without another word, gently feeling around for the water cup resting there. It’s heavy enough that it doesn’t tip over when Ignis’ fingers collide with it. He grabs hold of it, and brings it back over to Prompto. 

Prompto expects Ignis to hand it to him so he can do take a sip himself, but instead Ignis is gently reaching forward with both hands, one empty, one still holding the cup of water. The first kiss of fingers against his lips, even if they’re simply finding where he is, lights a fire that blazes across Prompto’s face. 

When Ignis brings the rip of the cup to his mouth, Prompto dutifully takes it. 

“Slowly,” Ignis admonishes. 

Prompto nods, though he makes no move to slow down and Ignis doesn’t mention it again. 

“I’m guessing you won’t let us just forget about everything that went down, huh?” 

There’s a ghost of a smile on Ignis’ face. “Not a bloody chance.” 

Prompto sighs. 

“Yeah. Thought so.” 

  
  
  


 

\-----

  
  
  


 

Prompto definitely doesn’t deserve Ignis. The man waits until Prompto’s eaten half a piece of toast before he pulls up the chair to Prompto’s bedside. Prompto watches him as he moves around the room, and even though Prompto knows he’s about to be torn a new asshole, he can’t help but smile. 

It’s so nice to see Ignis moving confidently again, not doubting himself as much as he used to. Things were… well, things were rough, for a while. Ignis was so  _ angry _ , and Prompto and Gladio were completely out of their depth on how to deal with it. They’ve seen him angry, of course, you don’t travel with your best friends on the road for several months without seeing them at their worst, but this was different.    
  
This was a kindling rage that Prompto had never seen on the man before. Ignis had lost so much, they all had; Prompto’s done absolutely everything just to  _ hold on _ . 

The whisper of fingertips at his hand surprises him. He tenses, momentarily, but quickly melts into the bed, loosening his hands where he didn’t realize they were white-knuckling the sheets. Ignis’ touch is more sure this time. His fingers clutch at Prompto’s, assuring and grounding. He starts to feel the first strings of foolish hope wrap themselves around his lungs; it takes an embarrassing amount of time to break free. 

“I need you to understand something, Prompto.” 

Prompto bites his lip. He owes it to Iggy to let him say his piece, no matter how much it might hurt, what it might break. Prompto can’t afford to be selfish about this; not this. He doesn’t understand why it’s so hard. 

Well.

Maybe he does. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Prompto croaks. He doesn’t think he could get of this bed if he tried, despite how nice he feels right now. 

It has the desired effect. Ignis stays strong for several seconds, holding on strong to that always unwavering self control, but he  _ cracks.  _ A small, undignified scoff that evolves into a laugh. Prompto smiles, unable to quite help himself. 

Ignis quickly sobers, but Prompto can still see subtle indents of the smile he wore just seconds before. 

“Sacrificing yourself like that would have been a disservice,” Ignis tells him. Prompto opens his mouth to retort, but Ignis’ hand quickly silences him. “Most of all to me.”    
  
Prompto furrows his eyebrows, staring at Ignis incredulously. Is he being serious? Prompto would sacrifice himself without blinking if it meant that Ignis would be safe, and Prompto  _ knows _ he showed that today. Hell, he practically stomped it in Ignis’ face and rubbed his face in it afterwards. Talk about putting a plan into motion.    
  
“I don’t regret protecting you,” Prompto says. “You’re important. You’re  _ needed _ , to the people, and most of all to Noct.” 

“As are you, Prompto,” Ignis tells him, patiently, slowly, like he really wants Prompto to absorb what he’s telling him. Prompto has no idea why it’s so important, how Ignis has it so wrong when usually he’s the only one with semblance of a plan. “None of us would be able to move on without you.” 

Prompto’s breath leaves him in a whistling wheeze. He lets his eyes settle on Ignis again. It’s not like this is a  _ huge  _ surprise; they’re friends, friends who care about each other. Of course Ignis would he rattled when one of his friends tried to sacrifice himself for him. 

But, somehow it feels different, too. Like there’s something important Ignis can’t manage to say. Prompto wants to ask Ignis to tell him everything he never felt safe enough to tell anyone else, but, well. That’s a little much. Especially now, after everything that’s happened. Prompto  _ needs _ to be smart about this; losing Ignis isn’t an option he can survive through anymore.

Maybe he can start by listening to Ignis now. 

Prompto clears his throat. 

“I -- We can’t live without you either, Ignis. You have -- you have no idea how much we lean on you.” 

Ignis shakes his head, fists clenching in his lap like he can’t quite bear the weight of Prompto’s words. And maybe he can’t, maybe Prompto shouldn’t have mentioned any of this, but they also seem like things Ignis oughta know. 

“This conversation isn’t about me, it is about  _ you. _ ” 

Prompto rolls his eyes. “This conversation is very  _ much _ about you, dude. I’m fast on my feet. I had the best chance of leading it away so I could take care of it. Uh, which, I did… mostly.” 

“I do have the ability to defend myself.” 

Prompto bites his lip. It’s not that Prompto thinks Ignis has no ability to protect himself, but Prompto… almost losing Ignis, in Altissia and then again, however indirectly when Prompto was with Ardyn -- it’s not something he wants to repeat again. Ever. 

He didn’t think he could lose Noct, either, and he was right. There’s an aching, gaping hole inside of him where everything Noct ever made him feel has been burned away. Some mornings, when Prompto wakes up, he half expects to roll over and bump and elbow into Noctis’ face. 

Losing Noctis, that had forever changed Prompto. It doesn’t matter that they all believe Noctis is coming back -- is he, though? How can any of them know how magic ancient crystals work? 

They still  _ lost _ him. They never got to say goodbye. 

Prompto could only survive through that because of Ignis, because of Gladio. 

Ignis, though. He’d rather have Ignis angry at him as long as he was alive enough to actually do it. 

“I know you can protect yourself, Ignis. I never -- I’m sorry, you know? I didn’t mean to come off like an asshole, or that I was doubting your abilities or anything. I’ve still never seen anyone scarier with a knife. I just -- I  _ had _ to do something. We… we lost Noct because we didn’t do anything. We let him go. I can’t -- Ignis, I can’t lose you, too.” 

Prompto, for some reason, can’t seem to look away from Ignis now. He catches the way the man seems unable to control himself; his entire body goes tense for several seconds. Prompto doesn’t think he’s said anything too damning regarding his feelings for Ignis, but it’s not like he can really hold his memory accountable enough to know that for certain. 

“I don’t need an apology, Prompto,” Ignis says, after a handful of moments that were long enough for Prompto to start spiralling. “I simply need you to never do it again.” 

Prompto scoffs. “Uh, no. Sorry, dude. I’m not going to do that.” 

“ _ Prompto _ .” 

“No, no. I’m not just going to stand by while you’re in  _ danger _ , Ignis.” 

There’s that silence again. Prompto doesn’t know if he’s shocking Ignis with what he’s saying, or if the man is only taking so long to consider his words carefully, but he really wishes Ignis would talk to him a little more. There’s still that feeling he can’t quite shake, that there’s  _ something _ Ignis is doing a very good job of not talking about. 

Not that Prompto is the one Ignis has to tell it to… but that ugly, selfish side of him wants Ignis to, wants him to mean enough to Ignis to have it. 

“What  _ ever  _ gave you the idea that I could?” 

Prompto’s breathing hitches. “What?” 

“I’m afraid I cannot afford to lose you, either,” Ignis says. “Never that.” 

Prompto’s attempts at calming the rapid fire rhythm of his heart are in vain. He knows that Ignis is simply saying he can’t lose another friend the way he lost Noctis, that’s all, that’s it. He refuses to let himself invest hope in this; that path never works and Prompto’s setting himself up for disappointment. 

“No. I mean, I  _ really _   wouldn’t be able to take losing you, dude.” 

The annoyance on Ignis’ face suddenly becomes startlingly clear. His glasses have slipped down enough that Prompto can see the (adorable) pinch between his eyebrows, the edges of his mouth curled into the displeased frown he used to wear when he found him and Noct playing video games at three in the morning. 

And, then, at once, Ignis’ face is suddenly a lot closer than was before. 

Like, a lot. 

“Prompto, I need you to understand what I am trying to tell you,” Ignis whispers. One of Ignis’ hands reaches up, and lands on the base of Prompto’s throat. He sucks in a breath like that, Ignis’ thumb curling slightly around Prompto’s skin; there’s no pressure there, Ignis is clearly just holding him. 

The slightest pressure against his lips, then, and Prompto realizes, perhaps more than a bit belatedly, that Ignis is  _ kissing _ him. The noise he makes against the taller man’s mouth is more than a little embarrassing, but he can’t find it in himself to mind all that much when it causes Ignis’ other hand to squeeze the hip underneath it when it lands. 

The kiss is chaste, still, just the pressure of lips against lips. Ignis’ are unsurprisingly soft -- Prompto’s spent enough time staring at them to imagine what they would feel like on every part of his body more times than he can count. But this is undoubtedly better, anyway. Ignis is real, and he’s surging into Prompto like the tide.

“Please,” Prompto says into Ignis’ mouth. 

Ignis tilts his head, allowing them to come together more naturally. His friend is still poised over him awkwardly, bent uncomfortably at the knees so he can kiss Prompto without him having to strain too much. Prompto is stupidly grateful for just how thoughtful Ignis is, but he’s also kind of wanted Ignis up here since yesterday. 

He pulls away for a moment, eyes widening when Ignis leans forward to chase his mouth. 

“Ignis,” Prompto says. He’s weak, he’s so, so weak. Prompto lets one of his hands slide up the length of Ignis’ chest until it rests on the man’s cheekbone. “Get up here with me.” 

“Pardon?” 

“I want to kiss you more, dude, and this isn’t comfortable for either of us.” 

“Hm. I would think that would be rather uncomfortable itself, as well.” 

Prompto rolls his eyes. “You won’t hurt me, Iggy. You never do.” 

The expression on Ignis’ face then is so sweet that Prompto is helpless but to lean in again to press a kiss to the corner of Ignis’ mouth. 

“I do not wish to hurt you, Prompto,” Ignis answers, voice actually sounding pained, like there’s nothing in the entire world he’d rather do. 

“You wouldn’t,” Prompto promises him. “Here, I’ll scoot over to make room for ya. Unless you don’t want to, then we can continue doing whatever. I just want to be close to you.” 

Ignis’ expression softens. “Well, who am I to deny such a request?” 

Prompto beams at him. “Thanks, Iggy.”

Getting Ignis in there is much simpler than either of them thought it would be. There aren’t any wires to avoid, as all the medical machines Prompto was probably hooked up to in the beginning have been transferred to other patients who need them more. Moving over, even just a few inches, is no less comfortable than he thought it would be. Once he’s finally situated, he pats the space next to him, watches the curl of amusement that plays at the edges of Ignis’ lips as he lays his cane by the chair. 

He sits on the bed in the next movement, moving so slowly, so carefully not to hurt Prompto that he sort of feels like crying a little bit. The bed isn’t big enough for there to be any space between them, but Prompto still manages to have a nice view of Ignis’ face as they lay there facing each other. 

“Hi,” Prompto whispers. 

Ignis’ answering smile is blinding, despite how small it may be. 

“Prompto.” 

He tilts his head up, somehow only just now realizing the man removed his glasses. Ignis’ scar has healed up nicely, and Prompto finds the urge to trace the edges of it with his fingertips is even harder to ignore now than it usually is. 

“Why did you kiss me?” Prompto asks, keeping his voice at a whisper. He honestly isn’t sure if he can say it else wise. 

“I do not wish to lie to myself any longer, not about how I feel about you,” Ignis says, but Prompto hears the words through molasses. Thick, syrupy; he absolutely cannot believe this is happening to him in real life. “I’ve adored you for quite some time.” 

Prompto lifts his head off his pillow. Ignis looks as honest as he’s ever seen him, and something inside Prompto clicks into place, the nagging doubts and insistence that Ignis was hiding something from him evaporates like smoke. 

Prompto’s willing to bet he just did. 

“Quite some time?” Prompto repeats, smile so wide on his face it’s almost hard to get the words out. 

“Since I made your favorite soup for you, yes.” 

Prompto’s eyes about fall out of his head at that. 

“Dude. That was like, two months after I met you.” 

Ignis hums. 

“Yes, I suppose it was.” 

“I — me too. I’ve had a thing for you pretty much from the moment I met you. You were so cool and put together. I bothered N — Noct about you for  _ ages.  _ Pretty much always, I guess. ” 

A flicker of sadness washes over fondness settling on Ignis’ face at the mention of Noctis, but it’s not as hard to look at as it once was. They’ll never be able to move on from Noctis’ sudden disappearance but it is nicer to talk about than he thought it’d be. 

“I believe Noct is probably laughing at us.” 

Prompto smiles. “Yeah, he’d totally get a kick out of us taking an extra four years to get our shit together.”

“Oh? Is that what we’ve done?” 

“Yup,” Prompto says. “I don’t care about the details, really. Not yet, at least. As long as we’re together. You and me, Iggy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

Ignis doesn’t have to lean over to close the distance, as Prompto meets him halfway.

“I believe you may be onto something, darling.” 

Ignis’ fingers tenderly trace the shape of his answering smile.   
  


 

 

 

\-----

**Author's Note:**

> PLS DO NOT HIDE LIFE THREATENING INJURIES FROM THE PEOPLE U CARE ABOUT!!!! 
> 
> anyway i hope u enjoyed this! i'm sorry if the ending seems a lil rough and abrupt... i didn't mean for it to be like that but uh... sometimes it just be like that <3


End file.
